Fragment
by ShadowsOnTheMoon
Summary: "The darkness will manifest itself... and if you can't control it, it's going to swallow you whole." [Scallison/Allisaac.]
1. The change

**Uh, hi. I don't usually stray too far from my usual fandom, but I have been inspired by the glory that is Teen Wolf 3B, and this is what happened. I've planned for this to be ten chapters long, can't say how long it will take me to write given how many other stories I'm working on/how much I have going on offline, but I'll try to update as soon as I can. This is set after 3A, so spoilers up until then. This is also kind of a new style for me, so bear with me as I get used to it/see if it works/get ready to ditch it forever. I've written a bit of chapter two, but am currently running low on both inspiration and motivation - so any feedback would probably help me find either of those.**

**So, uh, yeah, that's it. Enjoy the first chapter, and if you do please follow/favorite and most of all REVIEW so I know someone's reading my work. I'm more likely to stick around if I see people are reading my story - who knows, maybe I'll write another one sometime. Also, I don't read much TW fanfic, so if you have any recommendations (whether your work or someone else's) feel free to throw them my way - I'll read just about every ship/genre, but generally the darker and more depressing the better. So anyway, enough from me, how about we just get on with it.**

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The sheets feel cool on her skin, and a gentle breeze drifts through the window, lazily tugging at tendrils of Allison's hair as she lays back against her pillow. She smiles a slow satisfied smile as she gazes up into her lover's face (_oh god, he's gorgeous_).

With one final tender smile Isaac rolls off her and collapses onto the bed beside her. His hand skims across her arm, sending cascades of tingles shooting through her blood, and she rolls over so that she's facing him. They share a look, his eyes glimmering in the dim moonlight, and she doesn't dare ruin this perfect moment with words that will mean less than everything they've done tonight. With a contented sigh she nuzzles up against him; she wraps his arm around her, and within minutes she's asleep. Sound asleep, dreaming of silver waterfalls and echoing wolf howls and a voice that softly calls her name into the darkness.

She wakes up just after midnight, woken by a branch knocking against the window. Blinking in the gloom, Allison looks around, knowing something's wrong but unable for a moment to determine what it is. Then she reaches for Isaac, only to have her fingers curl around empty air. The space beside her is empty, and her heart sinks as the knowledge seeps into her mind. This had been their first time, and she'd thought it was a way to solidify their relationship. What if all he'd wanted was to sleep with her, and now, task accomplished, he'd vanished into the night? (_If he's gone now, he won't come back._)

These uncharitable thoughts disappear as she catches sight of a figure in the corner, leaning against the wall. "Isaac?" she calls tentatively.

The quietness of her voice is a response to confusion and the sanctity of the night, not fear of being discovered; her father is out of town, so that's not an issue. What's concerning now is the way that Isaac stands in the corner, not moving, not speaking.

Slipping out from under the covers, Allison snatches up her dress from the floor and pulls it over her head, her eyes never leaving the shadowy shape in the corner. Then she pauses, perched on the edge of the bed, her feet barely brushing the floor. "Isaac?" she says again, even less certain. When he doesn't answer she stands up, and in doing so realizes her knees are shaking.

Pushing aside any conscious fear, she walks over to the figure (_he won't hurt me, I know he loves me_). A step away, his features come into focus. His ruffled hair, his warm eyes. The shirt he was wearing earlier, smelling faintly of dirt and wood. He glances up at her and instinctively tries to take a step back, but he's already up against the wall.

"What's going on? Allison asks, anxiety making her voice hitch. She doesn't reach out for him, although she wants nothing more than to be in his arms again. "Isaac, talk to me."

For a long moment, he doesn't. Then he speaks, his voice trembling slightly. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and before Allison can ask what prompted this spontaneous apology, he crosses the space between them, wraps his arms around her neck, and kisses her.

Concern quickly overtakes elation as Allison leans into the kiss (_what's he doing, why can't I stop it_). This isn't like any of the other times he's kissed her. It's hungry, almost desperate, and alarm bells start chiming in her head. But she can't quite force herself to pull away.

Isaac is the one to break the kiss, and in doing so causes her to stumble back a step. She holds a hand to her mouth, unable to recognize the familiar figure before her. Every feature is the same, but something has change. There's a kind of darkness about him now (_like the one around you, don't forget your curse_).

Pushing the thought away, she turns her attention to helping him. "You're acting strange," she says, an understatement that feels ridiculous to even say. "Is everything okay?"

"No," he says, and then he grabs her. Hard. Spins her around so that she's up against the wall. Pushes her against it. Wraps his hands around her throat.

Allison is so startled she can't even utter his name. His fingers, which not long ago had caressed her body in the most tender way, tighten around her neck, slowly squeezing the life out of her. Her hands fly up, bat at his arms, but he doesn't even flinch. His eyes are coal dark, but bright with a fire that makes Allison feel cold. He lifts her up, and as her feet skim the surface of the carpet she has the horrible feeling she's about to pass out (_keep it together, don't let him take you_).

In desperation she meets his eyes, tries to silently plead for her life. But there's no mercy, no love. Only cold hard intention. She knows he's not going to stop unless she makes him, but how is she supposed to do that? Her mind is becoming fuzzy, struggling from lack of oxygen, but she's dimly aware that she doesn't have a single weapon on her. Chiding herself for being so unprepared (_you're a hunter, Allison, you should always have a weapon_) she quickly scans the surrounding area. Nothing there either, no weapons within reach. There's nothing for it then.

With the last of her strength she brings her knee up, slams it into Isaac, into the area that just this evening had given her so much pleasure. The effect is instantaneous. Isaac lets out a grunt of pain, his grip loosening. Wasting no time, Allison darts out with a well-placed punch, hitting his stomach with such force that he lets go of her completely.

He lets out an animal-like snarl, and Allison's eyes are drawn to his hands. Even in the gloom, she can see the elongated fingers, the sharp claws. She glances up at his face and sees the same thing, the signs that he's changing (_a werewolf in love, but still a beast at heart_).

"Oh no," she breathes, slipping underneath his still-outstretched arm and dodging out of his way. He turns to face her, his eyes still blazing. "Please no," she whispers, uncomfortably aware of her heart pounding in her chest, wondering if there's any chance it will just give out. Wondering if that would be any better than being ripped apart by someone she loved. "Isaac," she says, raising her voice, "you need to get in control, right now. Do you hear me? You can beat this."

Her voice is shaking, but Isaac seems to take notice of her words regardless. He curls his hands into fists, causing blood to trickle down. Allison follows it with her eyes, feeling faintly sick (_that could be my blood, he could kill me and who's to stop him_).

"This isn't you," Allison goes on, heartened by his efforts. Even if she dies now (_what will your father think? Will he go after the others?_), at least she'll die knowing Isaac tried to fight it. "You can't let it control you. Find your center, your anchor. Let it bring you back. You're a good person, Isaac. You can fight it."

The blood keeps dripping, a steady sickening rhythm. A small red puddle forms on the floor, seeping into the carpet. Allison thinks it will take forever to get the stain out, and then she almost laughs at her woeful lack of priorities.

"Please," she adds, and even takes half a step toward him, "you have to fight this."

Isaac looks up at her, his features slowly becoming more human. But just when it looks like he might be triumphant, his wolf side takes over. Hair erupts across his face, his claws shoot out again, and his eyes change to a cold and distant dimness. "I… can't," he spits out through gritted teeth.

"Yes you can," Allison says, sounding desperate even to her own ears (_you have to, for me, can't you see I'm shaking?_). Biting back a wave of panic, she takes another slow step toward him. She's talked him down from this before, talked him out of wolfing out. But she was calmer then, and closer to an exit. Now she's in heart-stopping danger, and she knows Isaac's wolf senses will pick up on that. And if he gives in, they'll drive him to heighten her fear. Fear, a werewolf's drug. The very thing her father is trying to get her to master (_deep breaths and a steady hand, let the arrow fly true_).

Weeks of hunter training creep into her mind, but lessons tumble over each other and rules seem to cross each other out, so she pulls herself away from that train of thought feeling even more confused. She needs to do something, but what if she can't talk him down? What if only one of them is walking away tonight? (_What if I have to choose which one?_)

He's slipping, she can see that, and her instincts are telling her to run. But her heart tells her to stay.

"Just listen to my voice, okay?" She licks her lips, tries to slow her heart. She waits until he's looking at her before she goes on, "You're stronger than this. Whatever is controlling you, you can stop it. You can fight it. Just take a deep breath, and -"

Her speech ends with a sound embarrassingly like a squeak as Isaac lunges toward her. She ducks out of the way, but it soon becomes clear that she wasn't his target. He keeps going, sprinting across the room, and heads straight to the window. He pauses to look back at her, the coldness in his eyes softened by an unspoken apology (_he loves me_), and then he throws himself out the window (_he loves me not_). She can hear him roll down the roof, and she quickly crosses the room.

She sees him land on the ground, ungracefully but effectively, and then he flees into the night. The darkness swallows him whole. Allison, her breathing shallow and her heartbeat threatening cardiac arrest, slams the window closed and then turns away from it (_keep it together, take a deep breath, you're a hunter for god's sake_).

Surveying the dark room, she lets her mind wander. How had such a perfect night gone downhill so quickly? Why had Isaac turned so suddenly? She knows it's not a full moon, but she peers out the window anyway, just to be sure. A small sliver of silver in the sky confirms what she already knew. No reason for his change is readily apparent, which makes the whole situation more panic-inducing. Where did Isaac go? And what is she going to do now?

Realizing she can at least answer the last question, she drops to her knees and sticks her hand under her bed, searching for – there. She pulls out a small wooden box, balancing it on her thighs and prising it open. Nestled in a bed of purple silk is a sharp dagger, given to her by her father (_a fine present for a lady_). She's never had to use it – she prefers to stick to her bow – but she knows how to. She runs her finger gently along the smooth edge, pleased with its sharpness.

Tucking the box back under her bed, she closes her hand around the knife and gets to her feet. In under five minutes she's changed into something more practical – old jeans and a dark shirt. She picks up the knife again and sits down on the side of her bed. It's unlikely Isaac will come back, but she needs to be prepared in case he does. She doesn't let herself consider whether she'd be able to use the knife on her boyfriend (_he loves me, he loves me not_).

Her anxiety and uncertainty keep her awake, but her weapon helps keep her calm. Eventually the former wins out, and her remaining shreds of calmness disappear. Every gust of wind is an intruder, every creak of a floorboard is someone sneaking up on her. She takes to pacing the length of her room, turning the knife over and over in her hands. Catching sight of herself in the mirror hanging over the dresser, she has to bite back a moan. Bruises ring her neck, delicate blues and purples, evidence that she let her guard down, let someone get the better of her (_he has part of you, Allison, and you can't get it back_).

One thing Allison has always been is strong, but since coming to Beacon Hills she's also learned how to let people in. And right now, in the dark of the night with nothing but a knife for company, and with the knowledge that her boyfriend very nearly just killed her, she knows she needs someone.

Without giving herself time to think, she grabs a jacket, tucks her knife into a pocket, and picks up her keys. In a few minute she's pulling up out the front of a house, and in another few she's talked herself into approaching. Wrapping her arms around herself, she pauses on the doorstep. Throwing caution to the wind, she raises her hand.

Before she can even knock, the door swings open. Scott is wearing what looks like pajamas, and an endearingly abashed smile. "I heard you coming," he begins to say, but on taking in her appearance he realizes the seriousness of the situation. He ushers her in, sits her down on the sofa, and disappears. He comes back out with a blanket, which he drapes over her shoulders, and a glass of water which he gently pushes into her hand.

Once she's stopped shivering, he sits down beside her, takes one of her hands in his (_don't think about that Allison, he's just a friend_) and asks the inevitable. "What happened?"

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**So there it is. Interested in reading more? Leave me a review and let me know!**


	2. The reality

**So now that my heart has started beating again after last episode (talk about intense) here I am with a new chapter. Thank you for the reviews, guys, and I'm glad some people thought this was worth reading. I haven't quite decided if this is going to end up being more Scallison or Scisaac, so I guess it will be a surprise for all of us. As always, read and review, and I'll see what I can do about getting the next chapter up ASAP. (Also, if you're reading this - yes, you, my friend who promised faithfully to review once not overcome by laziness - get your butt into gear and review, okay? Otherwise next week I will watch the episode before you and then text you all the spoilers ever. You have been warned.)**

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"It's Isaac," she says, knowing it's the wrong thing to say, knowing that having Scott's official blessing isn't the same as having his approval, but she has no one else.

Aside from a slight clenching of his jaw, Scott doesn't react. "What about him?"

"He…" Her hands drift up, lace around the scarf she'd haphazardly thrown on. She forces them down to her lap, worried she'll give herself away. "He sort of attacked me tonight."

"Attacked?" Scott repeats, concern lighting his voice like a neon sign. "What did he do?"

With as few details as possible, Allison relates the story. She can see Scott's eyes growing darker with every word she says, but he doesn't interrupt. When she's finished there's a long and very pregnant pause. (_He'll help, he has to help, but what if he doesn't?_)

"So you don't know where he went," Scott says, more of a question than a statement. Allison shakes her head, and he goes on, "Did he make any threats? Anything personal?"

Caught off-guard, Allison snickers slightly. "What, like 'I'll be back'?" she asks, but Scott's stare is enough to remind her of the severity of the situation. She ducks her head (_Scott will know what to do, and if he doesn't he'll figure it out_) and says meekly, "No, nothing. He apologized, but…"

"That doesn't exactly scream _bloodthirsty killer_," Scott muses.

"No," Allison agrees. "He wasn't acting like himself. Sometimes he'd snap out of it, almost act normal, but then he'd be off again."

"Like something was possessing him?" Scott suggests.

"Or controlling him."

They fall silent. Allison sips her water, tugs at the blanket, tries not to think about how horribly tonight has gone. From love to lust, from passion to pieces, and how is she supposed to clean up after this mess?

(_Act like a hunter._)

Allison shifts her position ever so slightly, but Scott picks up on this change. She's not an emotional teenage girl, she's a hunter. And she can handle this. "We need to make a list," she announces, and Scott pretends not to notice the way her voice is shaking. While he searches through the mess on the table, she goes on, "We need to think of everything we know of that could do this."

Scott produces a pen and an old notebook, and they spend the next half an hour tossing ideas back and forth. Demons. Ghosts. Druids. Alphas. Finally Allison rests the pen down on the table and rubs her temples, more tired than she'd thought possible. "I'm sorry," she says tiredly. "I didn't mean to drag you into this mess."

"Hey," Scott says cheerfully, and his hand comes to rest on top of hers. "It's what I'm here for, remember?"

"Thanks." She squeezes his hand in gratitude, trying not to let this mean more than it should. (_Damn Scott and his big heart, of course you fell in love with him._)

They throw a few more ideas about, but as they become more feeble their enthusiasm begins to dwindle. When they get to 'leprechauns' and 'the government' they decide to give it a rest. Allison leans back, taking a deep breath that's meant to calm her but somehow makes her more uneasy. "I know I said that Isaac probably wouldn't go after anyone else tonight, but…"

"You think we should try to find him," Scott finishes for her. "I was thinking the same thing. But -" he goes on quickly, seeing she's about to interrupt "- I'm going alone."

"Scott, you can't -"

"You can't come with me, Allison." His voice falls somewhere between high school principal and worried older brother, and she's not sure whether to feel grateful or hurt.

"I'm not some silly little schoolgirl," she reminds him (_although sometimes I wish I still was_). "I'm a hunter. I'm just as capable as you are -"

"Normally I wouldn't argue with you," he says, looking pointedly at her hands. Clasped around her glass of water, they're shaking. "You should rest," he says gently.

For a minute she considers protesting, but she knows it's a lost cause. "Fine," she says. "But… where? Isaac could show up at my house again, and he _lives_ here, so…"

Scott thinks for a minute, and then stands up. "Come on. I know a place."

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When the door opens, Stiles is standing there, clad only in an oversize football jersey and a pair of boxers. He seems embarrassed for a second, but, seeing how upset the other two are, beckons them in without a word.

"You know, normal people tend to visit during daylight hours," he says conversationally as he leads the way up to his room.

"Since when have we been 'normal people'?" Scott teases.

Once they've reached Stiles' room and the door has closed behind them, sealing them into a sanctuary, Scott speaks. Allison sits down at the desk chair, absently spinning back and forth on it, while Scott catches Stiles up on the situation. Her vision fades until all she can see is Isaac's face in the darkness, his eyes two pinpricks of light, full of hate and glinting with lust. (_It's a spell, a curse, it's not him._)

Stiles quickly agrees to let her stay the rest of the night, which is small comfort to her. Earlier that night, when she'd been laying down in bed, she had thought her world had finally fallen into place (_a place beside Isaac, a place that feels right_) but now the earth has been thrown off its axis, disorientating and disturbing. Isaac, her Isaac, has gone wild. He's turned feral, which is unbelievable after those minutes of passion and consequent calmness they'd shared. What had gone wrong?

"Is that okay, Allison?"

Scott's voice brings her back into the present. She blinks, forcing away images of her lover, and focuses on Scott. She tries to understand what he's said, what she's missed, but none of it seems to matter.

"Yeah," she mumbles, "that's fine."

"Good." Scott shares a meaningful look with Stiles, which Allison pretends to ignore (_when was the last time you needed protection? When was the last time you accepted it?_), and then he stands up and moves to the door. "I'll call you as soon as I hear anything," he assures her, and then he's gone.

A few beats of silence pass, and then Stiles clears his throat. "So, uh, Isaac's evil now, huh?"

Allison glances at him, put off by his attempts at levity. "Yeah."

She's too tired to defend him, to explain herself, to do anything except curl up in a ball and try to forget anything ever happened tonight. Stiles seems to pick up on this, because he drops the subject.

"I can drag a sleeping bag into here," he offers, gesturing to his room. Allison isn't sure there'd even be enough room for her on the floor, given the stacks of paper and piles of stationery items. "Or I can set up the couch for you, or you can sleep in my bed and I'll take the couch, or -"

"I'll take the couch," Allison says, already feeling like an inconvenience. "I don't mind."

Stiles dips his head, knowing better than to force chivalry. He pads down the stairs, Allison following a few steps behind, both trying to be as quiet as they can so they don't wake up Mr Stilinski. Now that he knows about the supernatural and about what's been going on in Beacon Hills, it might not be too hard to explain Allison's presence in his house in the middle of the night – but she still wants as few people involved in this as possible. Whatever's going on with Isaac (_what if it's something I did? What if he's not coming back?_) isn't something that needs police investigation, or parental involvement. She and Scott and Stiles can figure this out for themselves. They have to.

"Sorry about the blankets," Stiles says contritely as he throws a unicorn-patterned quilt over the couch. In response to Allison's raised eyebrows, he explains, "My cousin Gina came to stay last summer and left them behind. I don't know where the guest sheets are, so these will have to do."

"They're fine," she says, with what she hopes is a reassuring smile. He returns the gesture, but it's uneasy. She wonders if whatever happened to Isaac is contagious; and if it was her, then anyone she comes into contact with will be in danger. Maybe she's a carrier of something, not affected by it but able to pass it on to someone else. Able to hurt the ones she loves, without even meaning to.

While Allison rearranges the pillows and the blanket, Stiles stands nearby, his arms folded and an inscrutable look on his face. When she's finished she turns to him, surprised to see him still there.

"Are you… are you okay?" he asks tentatively. "Scott told me what happened, but what… you know, actually happened?"

Coming from anyone else this would be a strange question, but coming from Stiles it seems natural. With a sigh she sits down on the edge of the couch, wrapping the unicorn blanket around herself and resting a pillow in her lap, so she can dig her nails into it to stop herself from screaming. Stiles sits down next to her, waiting for an answer.

"Isaac stayed the night," Allison begins (_but he didn't stay, not really_), looking down at her hands. "When we went to sleep, he seemed fine. But when I woke up later, he'd…"

"Changed?" Stiles supplies.

Allison nods; it's the only way to describe it. "He was so distant, not like himself at all. I tried talking to him, but he wasn't making any sense. I got too close and he… freaked."

"And that's when he attacked you?"

Although she'd admitted it to Scott, hearing the words from someone else almost makes her flinch. "Yeah," she says softly. "That's when he attacked me."

"And then he just took off?" Stiles prompts when she falls silent.

"Not exactly." Allison swallows, looks up at Stiles, suddenly feeling the need to appear anything but weak. "I fought him off, and then he jumped out the window and sprinted away. I don't know what was up with him, but I couldn't… if he tries again, I'm not sure I can hurt him."

"Maybe you won't have to," Stiles says comfortingly. "Scott's out looking for him now, and if he finds him he can figure out what's wrong. And until then, you can stay with me. I may not a banshee or a werewolf or anything like that, but I do have something they don't have."

Allison tilts her head, curious. "And what's that?"

Stiles stands up and retrieves something from a cupboard in the kitchen. He comes back, baseball bat in hand, and Allison laughs.

"I guess I'm in safe hands, then," she says.

Stiles grins, and then becomes serious. "I may not be as strong as Scott, but I can be pretty formidable when I need to be."

Allison smiles, appreciating the effort he's going to in order to make her feel safe (_as if that's even possible_). "Thanks for all this," she says.

Stiles waves her apology away with his bat-bearing hand. "Don't worry about it. All in a day's work for Beacon Hills' favorite sidekick." His eyes sweep over the room, as if checking it's secure, and then he turns back to Allison. "Are you okay if I go back up to bed? Normally I'd be down for an all-nighter, but I have a trig test tomorrow."

"It's okay," Allison says quickly, not wanting to be a burden. "You go to sleep. I'll be fine."

After another scan of the room Stiles goes back upstairs, leaving Allison alone. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself, as if representations of magical creatures will be enough to keep real supernatural beings away. As if anything she does can keep her safe. The clock on the wall ticks slowly, marking each passing second, and finally Allison slumps down onto the sofa, closes her eyes, and lets herself drift off.

Sometimes oblivion is better than reality.

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**And there we have the reappearance of my OTP: Stiles x bat. Not even kidding. It makes me so happy. But anyway, what did you guys think of the chapter? Anyone still interested in reading more?**


	3. The voice

**Ohey everyone. Sorry for the slow update. I got distracted by a) the new episode (be still my heart, dark!stiles will be the death of me) and b) writing angsty Stydia fics. But here's the next chapter. Thank you all for your reviews, I'm really glad people are reading my story and I hope you stick with it. It will only be ten chapters, so I'm hoping nobody loses interest. That's all from me, so enjoy the chapter and I'll see you all next update or maybe in one of my other stories.**

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The rising sun offers more shadows than it does light. Allison rolls over, shielding her eyes from the glare, but when she's forced to open them she sees the shadows of trees reaching for her (_it's so dark, why is it so dark?_). Slowly she sits up, taking in her surroundings. She's at Stiles' house; she remembers now. She remembers the events of the previous night with alarming clarity (_Isaac's gone, you lost him_). Now awake, she knows there's no hope she'll get back to sleep. So she wraps the unicorn blanket around herself and watches through the window as the sun rises.

It happens tentatively at first, as if the sun is testing it out, tendrils of sunlight sent as scouts to gauge the likely reception. Then it seems to speed up, and the sun slips over the horizon, and everything is bright all at once. Not long afterward she hears a noise behind her, and turns to see Stiles padding down the stairs. He seems momentarily surprised to see her, but then he offers her a sympathetic smile.

"Morning," he says, with false (yet reassuring) cheeriness.

Allison shifts her position so that she's watching him over the back of the sofa. "Morning," she responds, deliberately leaving out the 'good'.

"Do you want something?" he asks, already pulling items out of the fridge. He sets some eggs and bacon on the counter and turns to her. "I'm not much of a cook, but I can probably manage an omelette -"

"It's fine." Allison shrugs. "I'm not hungry anyway."

Understanding, Stiles doesn't ask again. Allison leans back against the sofa cushions, watching him work. She wonders where Isaac is (_don't think about that_), but the thoughts are so depressing that she quickly turns her attention to other topics. The chemistry test she has today. The essay they're getting back in English. The lunch she'd planned with her father. Even so, she finds herself reaching for her phone, checking for messages, feeling disappointed when there aren't any.

After a while she joins Stiles at the kitchen table, and while he wolfs down his mess of an omelette she sips some orange juice, her stomach not allowing her anything more than that. (_You should feel sick, look at what you've done._) They don't talk, and Allison is grateful for the silence.

By unspoken agreement they don't talk about what happened last night, or the fact they haven't heard from Scott yet. Instead they just get ready and go to school, more silent and sombre than they'd been even after – well, everything else they've been through.

Allison is just sitting down at the start of first period chemistry when Scott walks through the door. She looks at him, knowing just from the way he holds himself that it hadn't gone well. He slumps into the seat beside her, brushing leaves out of his hair. Without thinking she reaches out to help, dusting leaves off like lint, but she quickly withdraws her hand (_he's just a friend, you can't do this_). A leaf sits in the middle of her palm, and she closes her fist around it.

"Anything?" she asks, not daring to look at him.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him shake his head. "I tried to track his scent, but it just suddenly… stopped."

"You mean you lost it?"

"No." Scott frowns as he takes off his jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair. He looks like he's been out all night, like he's been walking for hours. "I didn't lose it. It just wasn't there anymore."

Now Allison is frowning too. "How can it not be there? Scents don't just vanish."

"They do if you go into water," Scott points out.

Stiles, on the other side of Allison, chooses that moment to chime in. "So were you near any water?"

Scott seems to consider rolling his eyes, but instead just shakes his head again. "It was the middle of the woods. Nothing but trees and leaves and dirt. I don't see how he could have just disappeared like that."

"Hey," Stiles says soothingly, sensing his best friend is getting worried, "it's okay. We'll find him."

Allison adds in her own reassurances, but she's not so sure. As far as anyone can tell, Isaac is just _gone_. (_How far did he have to go to get away from you?_) The teacher enters the room then and the students all fall silent, but for the rest of the lesson Allison can't concentrate on anything. The words on the page in front of her don't make sense, and she wants to scrunch it up and throw it out the window. What does it matter who discovered the structure of DNA or whether the chemical equation is balanced?

The test finally over, Allison allows herself to breathe again. But she doesn't relax, she can't. Scott and Stiles are tense too, and none of them know what to say to make any of it better. (_I'm sorry._)

As promised, Allison goes to lunch with her father. They go to an Italian restaurant, and her father orders her more pasta that she could reasonably eat in a week, and she does her best to enjoy her time. But she can't help checking her phone every few minutes, hoping she'll hear something from Scott or Stiles or Isaac. It occurs to her suddenly that Lydia may not know what's going on, but she's not sure how to explain it to her.

"You seem distracted," her father comments as he pushes a meatball around his plate with a fork. "Is something bothering you?"

Allison is quickly accumulating questions she doesn't know how to answer. Is something bothering you? What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay? There's no way to answer any of those, so she just settles for a shrug. For a few minutes that seems to appease him, but he quickly circles back to the subject.

"If there's something bothering you, you can talk to me about it," he says, his voice low and eyes earnest.

She thinks of her father's way of dealing with problems: with weapons and violence. She thinks of Isaac, and she shudders, even though (_why are you protecting him after what he did_) she's not even sure he _is_ Isaac anymore. The person who had attacked her last night was not the one she'd fallen for, not the guy into whose arms she'd fallen, not the one whose lips she had so passionately kissed. What if there _is_ no Isaac anymore?

"It's nothing," she says, but her face must give her away. Her father keeps looking at her steadily, waiting for her to elaborate, but she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to be here. She just wants to find Isaac (_unless he's not the person you're looking for_). She moves before she thinks, and her father's alarmed expression is what tells her that she's on her feet. "I'm sorry," she says, laying down her napkin. "I just remembered I have something I have to do."

Before he can object she all but flees from the restaurant, leaving him bewildered behind her. She needs to do something, she hates feeling useless, but what is she supposed to do? As she slides into the front seat of her car, she realizes that her body is trembling and her hands are actually shaking. After all they've been through, she wonders if this is going to be what breaks her.

She finds herself back at school, with only a dim recollection of how she got there. Lydia meets her in the parking lot, and the look on her face is enough to tell Allison that she's aware of what's going on.

"Have you heard anything?" Allison asks, already knowing the answer.

"Nothing yet," Lydia says worriedly. "Scott and Stiles are out looking again, but I haven't heard from them in a while."

Allison nods in understanding, her mind already drifting. (_He's not coming back, give up already._) She gets through the rest of the school day without a single smile. Scott and Stiles show up late to English, and after a silent conversation Allison ascertains that they had no luck in tracking Isaac. They may have to bring in outside help – Derek or the Sheriff, maybe, but who knows what they'd do if they found Isaac first.

Scott meets her at her locker after the school day ends. She glances up at him and then away, not sure why she's suddenly so jumpy.

"Do you have any plans for tonight?" he asks.

Caught off-guard, Allison just blinks. Oh god, he's not going to ask her out on a date, is he? "I don't…"

Seeming to sense what she's thinking, he backtracks quickly. "I just mean, are you staying at Stiles' again?"

Allison breathes a sigh of relief (_just relief, there's no sadness, right_). Of course that's what he's talking about. "I guess," she says slowly. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"If you want, you could come stay at my house," he offers. "I know it's Isaac's house too, but we can put up a barrier so he can't get in. And you'll be safer with me than…"

"… Stiles and his bat?" Allison supplies, with her first smile in hours.

Scott smiles back. "Yeah. So what do you say?"

After the slightest hesitation, Allison says, "Sure. Let me just swing by my place to grab a change of clothes, and then I'll meet you at yours."

"Sounds good. See you in a bit."

As it turns out, 'swinging by her house' isn't as easy as it sounds. Allison finds herself frozen in the doorway to her room, the events of last night replaying themselves in her mind, surround-sound and high definition. (_You're a hunter, god damn it._) Finally she steps forward, still trembling, and hurriedly packs a bag of her things. The window's open, letting in a slight breeze (_that's why you're cold, that's all it is_), so after closing it she makes her way downstairs. Her father is still out, so she doesn't have to explain where she's going or why she looks a hot mess.

She's in a daze as she arrives at Scott's, and it carries through into the night, despite Scott reassuring her that it's going to be okay, that Isaac's fine, and they'll find him. She pretends to believe it, and at last Scott leaves her. But sleep does not come to claim her, and she lies awake until after midnight. And then, suddenly, she's in a state between waking and sleep, where shadows seem real and darkness tangible, and she can hear someone calling her name.

Without thinking, she answers. She follows the voice, like a shadow herself as she drifts through the town, her bare feet echoing quietly on the pavement, her hair curling around her shoulders, her eyes half glazed over.

She comes to a stop at an all too familiar place, and she blinks, and then she's aware again. The past hour comes back to her slowly, and a sense of foreboding creeps up on her. There's no one else who would call her here (_no one else I would listen to_) and although she doesn't know what's coming, she does know it can't be good.

As if to prove the point, she glances to her left as sudden movement catches her attention. A patch of shadows seems to solidify, and then walk toward her, features forming in the murky light, becoming clearer with every step.

"I-Isaac," she stammers, startled despite the inevitability of this moment. "What are you doing here?"

He comes to a stop a few feet away, looking at her in confusion. He looks down at his feet, then his hands, then up at the sliver of moon in the sky. Finally he meets Allison's eyes, and she sees there are tears in his (_do I hold him or do I run?_). "I don't know," he whispers, and then he collapses on the ground.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Hope you enjoyed it, and don't forget to review! #ShadowsOut**


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